


Just Jester

by maccom



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: 118, Canon Dialogue, F/M, Introspection, One Shot, POV Fjord (Critical Role), because I can't get THAT SCENE out of my head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27951146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccom/pseuds/maccom
Summary: "I'm kind of a big coward."Fjord's point of view during the days leading up to a certain scene in episode 118.
Relationships: Fjord/Jester Lavorre
Comments: 8
Kudos: 141





	Just Jester

He sees her at breakfast and keeps his distance. His thoughts are muddled, murky, manifesting worries and anxieties and that ever-present _what if_ …? She is the same as always - just Jester, bubbly and laughing and eager for whatever comes - but reacting to her as he usually does would feel insincere. 

Acting, rather than reacting.

Isn’t he past that?

If the others notice Fjord’s silence they give no sign. They follow Dagen outside into the fresh powder and Fjord’s trying not to be obvious; he’s trying to keep his priorities straight; he’s trying to focus on the day’s travel ahead and Lucien behind and whatever awaits them at the end of this strange, frozen land. He’s trying not to look at her differently - but how did he look at her before? How did he _act_ before? What _is_ this, and why is he already sweating beneath his winter layers?

He keeps telling himself she’s just Jester - but with every repetition that means a little more.

* * *

Veth’s cloud of snow has barely begun to disperse, far and distant at the bottom of this steep, powdery descent, and already Jester and Caduceus are racing to settle themselves in their shields, laughing and hollering as they slip and skid even attempting to sit. Dagen and Yasha are on the way down, both moving with far more elegance than the halfling. Fjord’s cheering Jester on in his head, hoping she’ll take the lead just to see her celebrate, and a part of him wishes that _he_ was on the shield beside her - _he_ was twisting and turning down a frantic mountain path - _he_ was the one she laughed with as they sled away from their group - 

Just the two of them, not thinking about beasts and the Nonagon and saving the world - 

He drags his attention back to his friends’ speedy descent just in time to watch them enter a copse of trees. His heart leaps into his throat as two distant thuds echo back to them; powder from two tall pines drifts down in a white shower, followed quickly by Jester’s unmistakable cry -

If she’s hurt Caduceus can heal her - but Caduceus went with her! If they lost both of their healers to _trees_ \- 

Fjord’s barely taken a step forward, sinking nearly knee-deep in the drifts in front of them, when a chime of laughter echoes up to them and his heart finally resumes its normal rhythm.

She’s okay. She’s not hurt.

He doesn’t look at Beau as they begin their slow, careful trek down to meet their friends; he isn’t nearly as upset as he pretends to be when Caleb-puffin alights upon his shoulder. The distraction is strange but not unwelcome, and it is admittedly a relief to allow his thoughts to be drawn elsewhere.

It doesn’t last for long, of course. They reach the bottom of the slope and find their friends, and though everyone is in high spirits Fjord’s thoughts return to this little, blue tiefling with snow in her hair and a weasel in her hood, and he remains quiet for the rest of the day.

* * *

More nights in Caleb’s magical tower; more days braving biting winds and unusual beasts. They haven’t spoken privately since the message to Sabien - and he’s barely even given that entire problem a spare thought! Sabien and Darktow and whatever Fjord’s going to do once they’re free of this strange land and these dark problems -

It seems smaller, somehow. Not because of their journey through the ruins of Aeor - though that has certainly altered his priorities somewhat - but because Sabien is tied up in who he once was, the Fjord-before; the Fjord that wasn’t sure of himself and hadn’t found his place and admired a man he barely knew anything about; the Fjord who wanted revenge; the Fjord that hid his name and filed down his teeth and masked his accent; the Fjord he is no longer interested in being.

He still wants to find Sabien. He wants answers, of course, as he always has, but retribution no longer pulls at him as it once had.

Something else has captured his attention.

* * *

He’s unnerved by the seven statues even before they start investigating them. Strange stone figures in the middle of nowhere? Amidst ancient ruins and magic they cannot understand, the smart decision would be to keep moving.

He knows better. The Mighty Nein are curious to a fault, and this strange puzzle is no exception.

There is little he can do in these situations; arcane history is a weak point in his repertoire, and unless one of the statues comes to life he can do no more than follow his friends’ instructions. After their ordeal with the gemstone pillar he is more cautious; less eager to poke and pry; but _still_ he finds himself moving closer. Seven statues organized in such a fashion do not come from thin air; surely they must do _something_.

The game of boulder-parchment-shears catches him by surprise. When Jester wins he has his argument on the tip of his tongue - his refusal, his protest, his flurry of worries - 

But she can make her own decisions. She can take her own risks. She would never forgive him if he tried to erect walls around her.

The moment she steps into the center and _freezes_ , however, he begins to consider that walls might not be enough.

“Jester?” he says, taking a step forward.

The others sense it, too. Not an obvious danger - but Jester is always bouncing, Jester is always moving, Jester is a force all her own. To see her completely still with her eyes wide, watching something visible only to her - 

“Jessie?” Veth is there, too; not yet touching, but her worry does nothing for Fjord’s sudden fear. He wants to grab her, to shake her free and undo whatever this is, but the knowledge that breaking her from this magic might do even _more_ damage keeps him still. Caleb’s on the other side of her, alarm obvious even on his closed face, and he hears Beau, Caduceus, and Yasha come closer as his heart races. Not-knowing mingles with the growing need to do something - to free her - to end that horrible, terrified expression she wears -

Life and movement comes back to Jester all at once, and she stumbles backwards coughing and heaving. There is a flurry of questions from all sides; Fjord himself is quiet, still caught somewhere between fear and relief. Her confused, teary explanation - a question answered and something taken - does nothing for his anxiety, and he feels like a fool when Caduceus and Beau realize what has been taken before he does.

 _Years_. Time. Life itself. That which is most precious, that which he wants Jester to have an abundance of, that which he would have given instead - he would have! Unequivocally! He would have taken the cost without hesitation!

But he hadn’t stopped her. And now…

The changes are not obvious. She is still young, younger than him, but he can see it in the shape of her face, in the corner of her eyes, in the length of her horns. She is still Jester - just Jester, as she always has been - but something has been lost, something immeasurable and impossible to quantify, and Fjord’s heart hurts to dwell on it.

In their attempts to reassure her they say she is still herself; Caleb reiterates that she is still beautiful and Fjord wants to throw something. Can’t they see that what Jester looks like doesn’t matter? Can’t they see that years of this wonderful, whimsical tiefling’s life have just _vanished_?

They say it’s worth the cost; _Jester_ says it’s worth the cost, and Fjord’s too furious to argue.

He should have taken the risk.

* * *

They talk to the dead mage the next night. Fjord helps as best he can, but Caduceus does most of the work. Fjord’s thoughts are on the blue tiefling who cannot stop playing with her horns; her cheeks; her hands. Does she feel it? Can she notice the change in the mirror?

Does she regret winning that game of chance?

They finish their ghastly work and Fjord trusts Beau and Caleb to work through their discoveries as his attention again returns to the tiefling. Aside from Dagen she is the first to bed, which surprises none of them, and though he watches her leave he remains with the others a little while longer. 

He has to talk to her. 

He has to explain whatever this is - this worry and fear, this need to keep her safe, this regret that he had not held her back - or else the next time she takes a risk he might very well give the game away. 

Leaving the group behind, he makes his way to the floor he just so happens to share with Jester. Her door looms ahead of him and he stands outside of it, hands in his pockets, wishing he had just a little more courage. 

He’d saved her before, hadn’t he? In the sinking temple, and at that damn tree, and other times, other battles, with every potion tossed her way or distraction he could muster.

But - those times had been different! Those had been automatic! He hadn’t stopped to think - he’d seen Jester in trouble and had reacted! Only now he’s given himself too much time to consider all of Jester’s possible reactions, and even if he tells himself she will not react _badly_ the nerves are still there.

Walking into Avantika’s quarters was easier, but it meant less - it meant nothing beyond that moment, beyond the games they both were playing and their competition to reach Uk’otoa, and he had no intentions of confessing anything; he was there for the entertainment, there to better their chances, there to prove a point to himself - but knocking on Jester’s door…

Straightening his back and taking a deep breath, Fjord raises his hand. Silly, foolish questions waltz through his mind - how hard should he knock? How long should he wait? Should he call out to her just in case? If she hears his voice will she be more or less inclined to open it? - and he pushes the thoughts down, swallows the anxiety, and raps twice against the wood.

...knocking on Jester’s door means quite a bit more.

A moment.

Two moments.

Enough panicking heartbeats to seriously consider turning around, finding his bed, and burying his head under his pillow.

The door opens and she’s there - tired and confused and just as irresistible as the day he met her - and if he had any doubts about his heart before he knocked they vanish at the sight of her.

“Hello?” she says, and though she’s hesitant she doesn’t look upset that he’s there.

What words to say? What words will convey the unfathomable depths of new emotions he is tumbling head-over-heels through? Jester is blunt; Jester is in-your-face; Jester doesn’t wait to get to the point.

Honesty, then. Simple and straight from the heart.

“I was really worried about you - when you fell,” he says, and by some manner of miracle his voice is steady. He smiles to try to dispel some of the weight of his words - but they are heavy regardless. “This suddenly feels far more serious than I thought it might be.”

“I know,” she says, and though she smiles at the start her eyes unfocus and she winds her fingers around and around and around, knotting and intertwining as her nerves betray her. “I can’t get the image out of my head.” She looks down. “It’s scary.”

The sudden urge to throw himself between her and those memories is as surprising as it is impossible, but the creature stirring in his chest will not back down. One of his tusks pierces his lip as he grinds his teeth together and he takes a moment to unclench his fists, to take a deep breath, to focus on the Jester in front of him instead of the Jester trapped in that memory. “What do you think will happen?”

She shakes her head. “I think if they bring it back it will absorb everything it can. It felt like all of the people that lived there - like they are part of the city now - like they can never escape.” She meets his eyes and he hates the pain he sees in her. “It felt like hell. It felt like torment.”

Jester should not know what hell feels like. Jester should be painting flowers and phalluses, should be knotting shoelaces together, should be doodling in her sketchbook while her mother sings - 

But they are here, now, and it falls to them to move forward.

“We have to stop it, right?” He isn't sure why he asks - he knows; gods, does he know - but if she were to say no…

“Yeah.” Blunt, as always, and the answer he predicted even if it didn’t want to hear it.

It’s his turn to look away, and for the first time words - a currency he usually swims through - desert him. “I - I may have a - a problem.” She’s watching him now, worry overtaking fear, and it’s ridiculous - isn’t it? His problem is small compared to what waits for them; it is inconsequential compared to saving the world; it would be something he kept to himself if it did not involve her. It’s too late to turn around; too late to back away; too late to say anything but the truth. “I saw you standing on that pillar and -” Looking at her is terrifying. Looking at the ceiling is slightly easier. “It was the first time where I kept myself from trying to stop something that was happening to you and I - I didn’t do anything and it’s - it’s bothered me,” he finishes somewhat sparingly. The cold weather “bothers” him; Caleb’s collection of cats “bothers” him; what had happened to Jester is so far removed from “bothering” he cannot think of an appropriate word.

“You couldn’t have done anything,” she argues, and something in her tone makes him look at her. “It was in my head, you know.”

“Yes -” He hesitates. They are wandering slowly closer and closer to the root of his problem; his nerves grow more and more chaotic. “I don’t want you to gamble yourself.” She stares at him, not understanding - because have they not both gambled from the very beginning? Is that not what they do? - and he forges on. “I - I know we were playing and it didn’t seem like much and - it seems to have exacted a pretty serious toll. All I’m saying is - I want you to be careful. I don’t think we’ll be the spectators that we thought we might be.”

“Okay,” she says, and there’s still confusion there, because she _knows_ this! _Everyone_ wants her to be careful; of _course_ they are being drawn in; he is going round in circles!

“I want to come out of this and be able to go back to the sea, and back to Nicodranas, and go back to where it’s warm and not freezing, and -”

She’s nodding along with him, a longing, homesick look in her eyes as she no doubt thinks of beaches and her mother and a bustling city bright with lights. “Me, too.”

He can’t keep up the hope. Reality weighs against it, cold and ever-present and inescapable, and he has to give it voice. “I just don’t know if that’s -” He stops. Saying those words feel too prophetic; he cannot bring himself to utter the thought. “I don’t feel as optimistic now.”

“Me neither,” she admits, and if it takes something out of her to say it, it takes something from him to hear it, too. “But - I’ll try to be safe, and you should, too.” She shakes her head as her voice quavers. “But if it comes down to stopping that thing...I _really_ want to stop that thing.”

Hadn’t she gone into an ice dragon’s lair? Hadn’t she braved - and outsmarted - the hag singlehandedly? Jester is not one to let a problem pass her by, especially one of this magnitude, and Fjord knew from the start he could not convince her otherwise.

One last attempt. One last honest try.

“I told your mother I’d look after you.” It’s a cheap shot and he knows it, grinning before he can even get the words out, and she sees through his attempt.

“I’ll be fine, Fjord. We always are.”

He’s danced around it, explaining what he wants without telling her why he wants it, but if the morning comes and they find themselves in a similar situation he cannot be sure he will be able to stand aside.

Fear and nerves and all manner of things bubble inside him as he opens his mouth - 

This is Jester. Just Jester - as she’s always been, ever since they met on the Menagerie Coast - and there was once a time when he thought he knew what she would say to his impending confession. Back at the beginning, back with Molly, back when she’d read that silly book just to make him blush - 

But they are not the same. She has changed just as he has, and he cannot blame her if she’s moved on. 

“I care very much for you,” he says, his voice low, and by some inner strength he manages to look her in the eyes. He watches shock ripple across her face - no doubt dispelling every thought of Aeor and Lucien and today’s ridiculous events - but he cannot discern if this revelation pleases her or not.

“Really?” She sounds hopeful, and he nods - wordless, waiting, hoping - “Is it because I have chiselled cheekbones now?”

Just like that - the fear is gone, dissipated, popped, and he’s grinning at this ridiculous tiefling, at this cleric who’d been beside him from the very start, from this wonderful friend he should have turned to months earlier. “It’s the longer horns. Gives you a more intimidating look.”

She laughs outright at that, raising a hand to again play with the jewellry dangling from one tip, and Fjord’s mind is made for him. His hands barely feel his own as he reaches for her, holding her around the waist as he pulls her close against him, and he watches the laughter on her face shift to surprise and then - and then -

“Can I kiss you?”

A hesitation that lasts a lifetime; a breath held close; a hope he holds on to with everything he has -

Her hands, again fumbling and twisting between them, finally fall still against his chest, and the light in her eyes is nervous, bubbling excitement - a smile, even through her tears - when she finally nods.

One hand shifts from her waist to her jaw, gently shifting her chin upwards, and if his fingers shake she doesn’t seem to notice. Butterflies collide in his stomach as he leans forward, feeling the heat from her skin even as his thumb glides over her chin -

This isn’t his first kiss, and if he doesn’t perish beneath a glacier it will damned well not be his last, but _this_ \- gods, this kiss _means_ something; he’s worked for this; he’s hoped for this; he’s stayed awake for so many nights dreaming of this - and to finally touch his lips to hers - 

He pulls back and she’s laughing; she’s crying; her cheeks are flushed and there’s a light in her eyes that warms him right through to his core. He feels as giddy as she does, and there’s a part of him that wants to sing the news throughout the tower - to drag Beau out of bed and drink with her, to give Cad and Veth the chance to smirk about it - but he also wants to keep this close.

The Mighty Nein will know soon enough, and tonight - 

Tonight is just for Jester.


End file.
